


Waffles

by Khylara



Series: The Rooms In Pete's House [18]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Peterick, Post-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22357357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khylara/pseuds/Khylara
Summary: Pete and Patrick are in the basement looking for something. Prompt - basement
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Series: The Rooms In Pete's House [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601686
Kudos: 4





	Waffles

**Author's Note:**

> And we're still going. Turns out Pete has a pretty big house. And see if you can spot the other fandom reference!

Cobwebs decorated the ceiling and exposed pipes as the two men climbed down the stairs. "This looks like something out of "A Nightmare Before Christmas"," Patrick said, looking around. "Or a random 80's horror movie. You know? the one where the blond girl with the big boobs never escapes?"

"It's not that bad," Pete said as he began sorting through the boxes scattered on the shelves. There were at least three labeled "Kitchen" in Patrick's neat handwriting. "You can help, you know."

"What are we looking for again?" Patrick asked as he picked a box. 

"The little round waffle maker," Pete said as he closed the first one up and moved to the second. "I know it's here somewhere. I remember you packing it."

"Ashlee didn't take it with her?" Patrick asked. 

Pete snorted. "Ash doesn't cook. Besides, she's more of a french toast kind of girl." He moved to another shelf.

Patrick sighed. "I thought you didn't like waffles, either."

"I don't really. But they also make pretty good pancakes. And you like those." He opened yet another box and looked inside. "Nope. Not here either."

Patrick stood up, a smugge of dirt on his annoyed face. "Are you sure it's down here?"

"As sure as I can be without actually seeing the damn thing." Pete wiped his hands on his Mettalica T-shirt, grimacing when they came bqck dirty. "I fucking know it was down here."

"Well...it's not now." A cold chill swept through Patrick as he took in the bags scattered about, each one with it's own specific shape. "I really don't like it down here. It's dark and creepy."

Pete stopped upon seeing the look on his lover's face. "You don't see it as romantic? Not even a little?'

"No, not even a little," Patrick said, shaking his head. "It reminds me of something I read once in a wierd occult novel back in high school."

"I always suspected you of practicing black magic," Pete said as he pulled the singer into his arms. "It would be a fair trade for waffles."

"Only if they have butter pecan syrup on them," Patrick said as he drew away, heading for the stairs. He tripped over a coiled up garden hose and fell to his knees. "Fuck!"

"How bad is it?"Pete asked as he bent down to look at it. "Well...I don't think you sprained it. It doesn't feel swollen. I'll put some ice on it when we get back upstairs."

Patrick reached up and turned on the overhead light. "It's sore, but I don't think I did any real damage." He glared at the hose. "And shouldn't that be outside?'

"I don't know. But it definitely shouldn't be here." Picking it up, he tossed it into a dark corner. "Here. I'll help you. Take my arm and sit over here." He led Patrick over to a battered velvet sofa sitting by the basement's stairs. 

Patrick sighed as he sat down. "Andy was right when he said I was accident prone."

"Just a little," Pete said, gently kissing him. He leaned even closer, brushing his fingers through Patrick's hair. "Love you, angel baby."

"I'm not," Patrick said, blushing furiously. "You keep saying I am, but I'm not."

"Of course you are, I think you are." Very gently, Pete laid Patrick down on the battered couch, kissing his way down his neck. "Can I?" he asked.

Patrick squirmed underneath him. "I'm all dirty," he protested.

"And I intend to make you even dirtier. Can I?" he asked again.

Patrick relented a moment later. "Please," he begged, letting out a soft groan as Pete moved lower. "Anything."

"I've got you, baby," Pete said as he pulled up his shirt enough to tongue his nipples erect. "My golden angel baby. Can't get enough of you."

Patrick's fingers dug into the worn velvet. "Don't...don't stop," he begged as Pete undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants. "Please, love...just don't stop."

"I won't. Not ever. Love you so much...Patrick." Pete slipped a hand down the front of Patrick's pants, his fingertips brushing against his erection.

Suddenly, Patrick's back arched off the couch as he came all over Pete's wandering fingers. The bassist watched, drinking in the look of bliss on Patrick's face. _I did that,_ he thought proudly. It was something he knew he would never get enough of. "I barely touched you," he said, his voice soft as he took his hand out and wiped it on the front of his shirt. He leaned up and kissed him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Patrick said, swiping at his eyes. "I'm okay. Just...a little overwhelmed, that's all. But in a good way."

"Sure?" Pete pressed, concern on his face. "I didn't hurt you?"

Patrick shook his head. "No. You never hurt me. Ever." He gave Pete another kiss. "Can we go upstairs now?"

"Yes, we can go upstairs now." He pulled his lover to his feet and led him toward the wooden stairs. "Just be careful. No tripping over your own two feet again."

"Okay." Patrick turned around to look at him. "Pancakes? Pancakes would make me feel better."

"I'm sure they would," Pete agreed. "No little round waffles?"

"We never did find the waffle maker," Patrick said as they headed for the kitchen. "And I'd rather have banana pancakes for dinner."

Pete headed straight for the pantry. "I'll get the griddle going. You look for the bananas."


End file.
